Baseball Hall of Shame™

by Bruce Nash

  BOB MOOSE

  Pitcher · Pittsburgh, NL · August 29, 1968

  When Pittsburgh Pirates pitcher Bob Moose was a 20-year-old rookie, he felt the need to doctor the ball. He didn’t bother throwing the tried-and-true spitter or Vaseline ball. No, he was an innovator. He threw a pine-tar ball.

  In a home game against the league-leading St. Louis Cardinals, Moose coughed up two runs on three hits and two walks in the first inning. In the bottom of the frame, Moose was watching a teammate in the on-deck circle rub pine tar on his bat. Suddenly it dawned on Moose that the black goo might do wonders on a ball. So he rubbed his pitching hand with pine tar and went out to the mound for the second inning.

  With his ball now dipping and diving, Moose looked like Cy Young. He struck out the side in the top of the second. When Moose fanned slugger Orlando Cepeda in the top of the third, St. Louis manager Red Schoendienst became suspicious. He called time and demanded that plate umpire Chris Pelekoudas inspect the hurler’s hand. Sure enough, the ump found enough pine tar to make George Brett proud.

  Following the umpire’s orders, Moose went into the clubhouse and washed off the pine tar. Then he returned to the mound where he promptly gave up a double, walk, and two run-scoring singles in the inning before he was yanked for a reliever.

  After the game, won by St. Louis 5–0, Cardinals outfielder Curt Flood, an African American, said of Moose’s pine-tarred black hand, “Why it looked just like mine.”

  PETE ROSE

  Third Baseman · Cincinnati, NL · July 11, 1978

  Cincinnati Reds third baseman Pete Rose masterminded a clever plot that deliberately psyched out the American League team before the start of the 1978 All-Star Game.

  Even though the National League had won six straight and 14 out of the previous 15 games, Rose was still looking for that extra edge against the junior circuit’s All-Stars. So he concocted a scheme to make the National League hitters seem more powerful than they really were. He arranged for Mizuno, a Japanese sporting goods company, to ship him dozens of Japanese baseballs. Because they were made smaller and sewn tighter, they carried much farther than Major League baseballs.

  “I brought the balls in for the National League’s batting practice,” Rose admitted to reporters later. “It was all for psychological warfare. There was all this talk going on about how the American League couldn’t do anything against the National League. Well, I was always looking for ways to take advantage of that, kind of get under their skin and remind them in subtle ways that they really weren’t as good as us.”

  When Rose had the Japanese balls smuggled into San Diego Stadium, the rest of the National Leaguers went along with the conspiracy and agreed to use the balls in batting practice. Then Rose went over to the American League’s clubhouse and talked many of the players into watching the National League’s BP.

  “Everyone was hitting them out of the park,” recalled Larry Bowa, an All-Star second baseman for the Philadelphia Phillies at the time. “I even hit a couple out in BP—something I never did before. It made me feel like Babe Ruth blasting those babies out of there. I remember some of the American League players were watching our guys wallop those balls, and they were just in awe with their mouths wide open.

  “We thought it was funnier than hell. As soon as our BP was over, we made sure we gathered up all those balls and got them out of there. Then we sat around and watched the American League take their BP. They were just barely hitting them to the outfield wall. It was normal stuff, but after the way our balls were flying way up high into the stands, the American Leaguers looked like Little Leaguers.”

  The plot worked. The National League won for the seventh straight time, clubbing the American League 7–3.

  “We were having a great time beating the American League all the time and using those Japanese balls was just one more way to psych them out and rub their noses in it,” said Bowa. “Leave it to Pete Rose to come up with a new angle.”

  RENNIE STENNETT

  Second Baseman · Pittsburgh, NL · August 10, 1976

  Pittsburgh Pirates second baseman Rennie Stennett pulled a sleight-of-hand trick that gave teammate Willie Stargell credit for a catch he never made.

  In a game against the visiting Los Angeles Dodgers at Three Rivers Stadium, Stennett hoodwinked everybody—including Stargell—with his cunning deception.

  In the top of the ninth inning of a 5–1 Dodgers victory, Los Angeles batter Bill Russell lofted a pop fly into shallow right field. Stargell, who was playing first base, and Stennett charged after the ball while right fielder Dave Parker raced in.

  “I was probably in the best position to make the catch,” Stennett recalled, “but I could feel the ground shaking with those two guys closing in. I wasn’t going to get caught between them, so I pulled up.”

  While Stennett, who weighed only 160 pounds, moved out of the way, the 230-pound Parker kept coming in and the 210-pound Stargell kept going out. They both reached for the ball at the same time and crashed into each other in a collision that triggered tremors of Richter scale proportions. Unnoticed by everyone in the stadium, the ball dropped between Parker and Stargell, whose bodies shielded the ball.

  “They were pretty shaken up,” Stennett said. “Dave was stretched out cold and Willie was groaning and trying to sit up. The ball was on the ground between them, but nobody else could see it. At first, I was going to throw it in, but I knew I’d never get the runner in time. So I reached down like I was checking to see if they were okay and then I stuck the ball in Willie’s glove.

  “Willie was so dazed he didn’t know what was going on. I told him, ‘Come on, Willie, get up! Show them the ball!’”

  Stennett’s ruse worked. As the umpire reached the crash site, Stargell staggered to his feet and held up his glove with the ball in it. Russell was called out, and Stennett calmly strolled back to his position sporting the grin of a cat that ate the canary.

  BALTIMORE ORIOLES, NL

  1892–1899

  The Baltimore Orioles didn’t invent cheating, but they developed it into a precise science, earning a reputation as the dirtiest team in baseball.

  There was no trick in the book unknown to this rapscallion crew. Led by manager Ned Hanlon, crafty stars John McGraw, Willie Keeler, Wilbert Robinson, Hughie Jennings, and the rest of the conniving Orioles could fleece a con man out of his last dime.

  The Orioles—no relation to the current team with that name—lasted only eight years in the National League, but they left an indelible mark in skullduggery, especially during home games where the fans were accomplices.

  Rival infielders would boot easy grounders after being blinded by Orioles conspirators who used hand mirrors to reflect the sun into the players’ eyes.

  Back then, foul balls hit into the stands or out of the park were returned. But in Baltimore, furtive fans threw back substitute balls that had been soaked in water and deadened by the Orioles. Whenever a dead ball was hit by an opponent, it usually didn’t make it out of the infield.

  The players ordered head groundskeeper Tom Murphy to slope the third base foul line toward the infield so their bunts would curl fair. Murphy also kept the outfield grass so tall that it resembled a rye field, which allowed the Orioles to hide a baseball or two for one of their patented tricks. Often when an opposing slugger hit a long drive that appeared to fly past a Baltimore outfielder, the batter was held to only a single because the clever Oriole would pick up one of the strategically hidden balls and throw it back to the infield.

  One time, however, the scheme backfired. Left fielder Joe Kelley made a perfect throw with a planted ball to shoot down a runner at third base only to see center fielder Steve Brodie chase down the real batted ball and fire it back to the infield too.

  Baltimore took advantage of the fact that games were officiated by only one umpire who stood in the m
iddle of the field. The Orioles mastered the fine art of taking shortcuts across the diamond behind the back of the arbiter when sprinting from first to third, or second to home.

  Enemy runners took their lives in their hands. As they tried to dash around the bases, they were bumped, blocked, tripped, pushed, and spiked by the win-at-all-costs Orioles.

  If an opposing player made it to third, Baltimore third baseman John McGraw liked to slip his fingers through the runner’s belt and hold him just long enough to give an Orioles fielder a better chance of throwing him out at the plate.

  Once in a game at Louisville in 1893, McGraw hooked his fingers inside the belt of Pete Browning, who was a runner on third. Tricking the trickster, Browning loosened his belt buckle. Then, when the batter put the ball in play, Browning raced home, leaving a startled McGraw holding nothing but the belt.

  BYRON BROWNE

  Center Fielder

  GEORGE ALTMAN

  Left Fielder

  GLENN BECKERT

  Second Baseman

  JOE PROSKI

  Trainer

  Chicago, NL · March 28, 1966

  The Chicago Cubs tried to steal a spring training game by resorting to some cloak-and-dagger trickery.

  Then, when they were accused of cheating, the sneaky Cubs perpetrated an underhanded cover-up that even involved the team trainer.

  In the second inning of a game against the San Francisco Giants in Phoenix, Giants batter Jim Ray Hart clubbed a deep drive that sent rookie center fielder Byron Browne racing back toward the wall. As he leaped, Browne crashed into the fence, and the ball bounced about 20 feet away. It looked like it would be a sure triple, if not an inside-the-park home run.

  Browne collapsed with the wind knocked out of him. But before he fell, he made an incredible play. Somehow, without moving more than a couple of feet, he had fired the ball to shortstop Don Kessinger, whose perfect relay to Ron Santo at third nipped Hart.

  To the Giants, it was unbelievable—too unbelievable. They had seen the ball bounce 20 feet away from Browne and couldn’t figure out how he managed to retrieve it so quickly. Solving the mystery, the San Francisco bullpen crew pointed to the prone Browne and shouted to the umpires, “He threw the wrong ball!”

  Their cries brought Giants manager Herman Franks out of the dugout to complain. Meanwhile, Browne’s concerned teammates rushed to his side—as much to join in the fraud as to aid their fallen comrade. They discovered that an extra ball, left over from batting practice, had remained unnoticed near the base of the wall. The injured Browne, unable to reach the game ball, had grabbed the worn practice ball instead and thrown it in.

  So left fielder George Altman started a cover-up. As he ran to Browne’s side, Altman nonchalantly bent down, scooped up the game ball and stuffed it in his uniform. But this bit of chicanery did not go unnoticed. From the Giants dugout, eagle-eyed Willie Mays spotted Altman’s attempt at hiding the evidence, so Mays added his voice to the protesting chorus.

  Altman then secretly slipped the ball into the glove of second baseman Glenn Beckert, who was kneeling by Browne’s side. Beckert surreptitiously handed the ball to trainer Joe Proski, who had rushed out to tend to Browne.

  By now the entire Giants team was in an uproar, demanding the umpires take action against the Chicago con men. Finally, umpire Stan Landes waved his arms. “Everybody shut up!” he shouted. Turning to Cubs skipper Leo Durocher, the ump pointed to the four suspects and said, “Get all your guys over here and tell them to line up.”

  Once that was done, Landes went down the line, frisking the Cubs one by one. Last in line was Proski, who had no one left to take the hand-off of the evidence. The red-faced trainer sheepishly forked over the game ball to Landes. Comparing it with the dirty, grass-stained ball that had been used to tag Hart out at third, the umpire sent Hart to second base with a ground-rule double. And he sent the Cubs back to their positions, but with an admonishment not to try that scam again.

  MARTY O’TOOLE

  Pitcher · Pittsburgh, NL

  FRED LUDERUS

  First Baseman · Philadelphia, NL · 1912

  Pittsburgh Pirates spitballer Marty O’Toole got a taste of his own medicine when a player on the opposing team loaded up the ball with burning­-hot liniment that set the hurler’s tongue on fire.

  In 1912—eight years before the spitball was declared illegal—O’Toole faced the Philadelphia Phillies, who were fed up with his spitters. The Phils were especially vexed by his disgusting practice of holding the ball up to his face, hiding it with his glove, and licking it with his tongue. At least the Phillies spitballers didn’t use their tongues.

  Philadelphia first baseman Fred Luderus figured that if the pitcher could use a foreign substance on the ball, so could he. So Luderus took a small tube of a strong liniment onto the field with him, and every time he handled the ball, he rubbed the fiery hot salve on it.

  Within a few innings, O’Toole’s tongue was so inflamed, raw, and painful that he had to leave the game.

  After the game, Pittsburgh manager Fred Clarke discovered what Luderus had done. The skipper was livid and issued a formal statement denouncing the player. “This liniment is the most powerful known,” said Clarke. “Suppose a man should get a little of it on his hands and rub his eye. He could be blind for hours.”

  But Philadelphia manager Red Dooin issued his own statement claiming the liniment was used merely to protect the health of his players. “That ball may be carrying the germs of any one of many contagious diseases,” argued Dooin. “So we put disinfectant on it whenever we face a spitball pitcher like O’Toole. I do not see how we can be refused the privilege of protecting ourselves.”

  O’Toole knew he was licked and no longer used his tongue to load up the ball.

  GEORGE WILSON

  Right Fielder · New York, NL · April 5, 1953

  New York Giants right fielder George Wilson robbed a batter of an extra base hit by pretending a snowball was a baseball.

  It happened in a 1953 spring training exhibition game in Denver between the Giants and the Cleveland Indians. Both teams had stopped in the Mile High City on their way east after breaking camp in Arizona.

  Unexpectedly, a heavy winter storm had hit Denver the day before the contest. Snow plows had cleared most of the field, but they left a giant snow bank that followed the contour of the outfield wall.

  “We agreed that any ball hit between the snow bank and the fence would be a ground-rule double,” Indians manager Al Lopez recalled.

  The game was played without incident until Cleveland batter Ray Boone hit a deep fly to right. Wilson went back for the ball and then tumbled over the snow bank and fell out of sight.

  Just as Boone was rounding first, Wilson arose with his glove held high over his head with what seemed like the ball nestled in his mitt. The first base umpire signaled that Boone was out. But the ball wasn’t a baseball. It was a snowball. Wilson had packed the snow into a ball, put it in his glove, and fooled the umpire.

  “Wilson never caught the ball,” Lopez recalled. “He didn’t even come close. I yelled and yelled about it, but the umpire still called Boone out.”

  Meanwhile, Wilson sneakily retrieved the real ball a few seconds later and trotted in. Ray Boone wound up with the dubious honor of being the only Major Leaguer called out because of a snowball.

  MORGAN MURPHY

  Catcher · Philadelphia, NL · September 17, 1900

  The Philadelphia Phillies resorted to an age-old scheme to steal signs from the opposing catcher. They used a spy.

  Their undercover man was Morgan Murphy, a seldom-used second-­string catcher who nevertheless became one of the club’s most valuable players. His teammates relied on him to steal signals in their home ballpark to improve their weak hitting. It worked. The Phillies were 45-2
3 at home and 30-40 on the road.

  Opponents did not know Philadelphia cheated until the Cincinnati Reds came to town and accidentally uncovered the secret.

  In the third inning of a 4–2 Phillies win at Philadelphia Park, Reds shortstop Tommy Corcoran was coaching at third base when his spikes got caught on what looked like a vine underneath the surface. He kept scratching with his shoe until he uncovered a small metal box an inch or two below the ground. Opening the lid, he discovered a device that could emit electrical vibrations like a buzzer. When he pulled up the box, several yards of wire popped out of the ground. Corcoran called time and began yanking up the wire in a path that led across the field to the Phillies center field clubhouse.

  And that’s when the Phillies’ ploy was exposed. Murphy would sit in the clubhouse behind a little peephole with a telegraph set and a spyglass and steal the signs from the opposing catcher. Murphy would tip off the Phillies third base coach—usually utility man Pearce “What’s the Use” Chiles—by means of a buzzer system under the coach’s box. One buzz meant fastball, two meant a curve, and three was a change-up. Forewarned, the coach signaled the batter what pitch was coming.

  Phillies owner John I. Rogers thought this was perfectly fair and legitimate. The National League, however, declared that the ruse was definitely unfair and illegitimate.

  THE FALL FOLLIES

  For the Most Atrocious World Series Screw-ups of All Time, The Baseball Hall of Shame™ Inducts:

  BABE RUTH

  Right Fielder · New York, AL · October 10, 1926

  When the Babe pulled the biggest boneheaded play of his stellar career, it cost the New York Yankees their last shot at the 1926 world championship.